#Americans
The shadows sit and stand about it… Like uninvited guests and poor; And all the long, hot summer day The grating locust dins its rounde… In one old sycamore.
Around, the stillness deepened; th… Went wild with wind; and every bri… Was swept with dust; and then, tem… Hillward the tempest heaved a mons… That on the thunder leaned as on a…
Meseemed that while she played, wh… Her fingers fell, as roses bloom b… I listened dead within a mighty ro… Of some old palace where great cas… Gaunt moonlight in, that glimpsed…
How shall it be with them that day When God demands of Earth His pa… With them who make a god of clay And gold and put all truth away. Shall not they see the lightning-r…
From an ode ‘In Commemoration of… Massachusetts Bay Colony.’ The morn that breaks its heart of… Above the purple hills; The eve, that spills
The day, all fierce with carmine,… An Indian face towards Earth and… The west, like some gaunt vase, in… Its ashes under smouldering skies, Athwart whose bowl one red cloud s…
Who is she, like the spring, who c… From the hills to the smoke-huddle… With her peach-petal face And her wildflower grace, Bringing sunshine and gladness to…
Like some gaunt ghost the tempest… Outside my door; its icy nails Beat on the pane: and Night and S… Around the house, with furious fla… Of wind, from which the slant slee…
A rollicking song for the morn, my… A rollicking song for the morn: It’s up and out with a laugh and s… While the bright sun circles the w… And the dew is on the corn, my boy…
When you and I in the hills went… You and I in the bright May weath… The birds, that sang on the boughs… There in the green of the woods, k… All that my heart was saying low,
From the idyll 'Wild Thorn and L… O Maytime woods! O Maytime lanes… And stars, that knew how often the… Beside the path, where woodbine od… Between the drowsy eyelids of the…
MASTER of human harmonies, wher… And harp and violin and flute acco… Each instrument confessing you its… Within the deathless orchestra of… Albeit at times your music may sou…
‘He cometh not,’ she said.’ —MARIANA It will not be to-day and yet I think and dream it will; and let The slow uncertainty devise
What vague traditions do the golde… What legends do the dawns Inscribe in fire on Heaven’s azur… The red sun colophons? What ancient stories do the waters…
It’s ho, it ‘s ho! when hawtrees b… Among the hills that Springtime t… When huckleberries, row on row, Hang out their blossom-bells of sn… Around the rills that music fills:
